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Chapter Fifteen

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Mulder awoke as if swimming up from deep in the ocean, the 
light growing brighter as he struggled breathlessly to the 
surface.  Something cold and hard, almost wet, pressed 
against his cheekbone.  He opened his eyes to find the steely 
nose of a gun in extreme close-up.   His gaze traveled over 
the gun to the gloved hand, up the leather-covered sleeve to 
a pair of dark eyes staring down at him from behind a ski 
mask.

"Don't make a sound," the man said in a rough whisper.  
"Don't even breathe."

Mulder's chest froze of its own accord, the air still in his 
lungs even as his heart sounded a silent, horrified alarm.

Scully.  

He felt her presence by his side but he couldn't even look at 
her.  From the total silence, he assumed she was still 
asleep.  

The man shoved the gun barrel deeper into Mulder's flesh, 
making him wince as the pain radiated through his earlier 
bruise from the car accident.  Through one squinted eye, 
Mulder finally recognized the identity of the weapon pointed 
at him -- his own gun.

The man reached into his jacket with his spare hand and 
tossed a newspaper onto Mulder's chest, the rustling of the 
pages overloud as they crashed onto the blanket.  Beside him, 
Mulder felt Scully begin to stir.

"I got your message," the man said.  His mouth was a thin and 
pink line, surrounded by the white-knit outline from the 
mask.  That mouth was familiar.

Scully went rigid, the covers trembling, and the man turned 
his gaze to her.

"Move an inch and you'll be wearing Mulder's brains all over 
those tits."

The voice was familiar too, Mulder realized, but he couldn't 
quite place it.

"You wanted me?"   The man took in low, ragged breaths as he 
poked Mulder again with the gun.  "You got me."


The man scraped the gun barrel from Mulder's cheekbone down 
to his jaw, stubble scratching against metal with each 
passing millimeter.  Mulder held his breath as the gun grazed 
the edge of his mouth.

The man watched him closely for any reaction, the thin mouth 
parted in anticipation of Mulder's fear, so Mulder tried not 
to give him any.  "You wanted us to meet," he said.  "And 
here we are.  But you're still wearing that mask."

The mouth turned up in a grim smile as he stroked Mulder's 
chin with the gun.  "You didn't figure it out," he said in 
the same gruff whisper.  "So the mask stays on."

"I know you," Mulder said slowly, his frantic mind trying to 
piece the clues together.  The man smelled like smoke, as 
Harris had said.  Mulder had smelled the smell before, had 
seen that mouth...

All of a sudden, he had it -- a flash of that mouth from the 
night before, when he had sat across from it in a crowded bar 
and tried to read it over the loud noise.

"Take it off," Mulder whispered.  "Jimmy."

The mouth curled again, this time in a grudging smile.  He 
used his free hand to tug off the ski mask and looked down at 
Mulder with his hair now on-end. "Very good, Mr. FBI 
Profiler.  But you're still too late by my count.  I'm armed 
and dangerous and you're... not."

He looked at Scully, who had yanked the sheet over her chest.  
"I didn't expect to find you here, though.  I guess the show 
wasn't all for show, now was it?  This means I'll just have 
to improvise."

He leaned over Mulder, giving him a good whiff of his 
cigarette-stained leather jacket, and yanked the phone cord 
out of the wall.  "Turn over," he said, motioning at Mulder 
with the gun.

"No."

"Mulder," Scully said, tensing beside him.

Mulder kept eye contact with Jimmy.  "I won't do it."

"Then how about I blow your brains out right now?"  Jimmy 
jabbed the gun hard under Mulder's chin.

Mulder backed his head away but still refused.  "This is a 
hotel, with not-very-thick walls -- not a private house.  You 
fire that gun and everyone will hear it."

"And it would be the last thing you would hear.  I could 
shoot you both and be gone before anyone was the wiser.  This 
nice hotel with rich folks all asleep in their beds?  You 
think they'll hear shots and come running?"  He laughed at 
the thought and whipped Mulder's chest with the phone wires.  
"Turn over now."

"No."

His heart thudded madly against his ribs, but Mulder kept his 
voice calm.  Shooting them and running was not Jimmy's 
fantasy.  They might be dead, but Jimmy would have lost the 
game, lost control of the situation. If control was the 
ultimate goal, Mulder wasn't about to give him any more than 
necessary.

"Shoot me if you have to," Mulder said.

Jimmy turned the gun to Scully.  "How about I shoot her 
instead?"

But Scully had caught on to Mulder's approach, so she gave 
Jimmy a level stare and said, "Go ahead.  The end result will 
be the same."

Jimmy's arm shook, the gun trembling, and he stalked around 
the bed to Scully.  In a flash, he struck her across the face 
with the gun.  "You like that?  Huh?  How about this?"  She 
cried out as he hit her again, this time cracking the gun 
down on her fingers as she raised her hands to protect her 
face.

Mulder broke from the bed as fast as he could, heading not 
for Scully but for her gun holster that sat on the desk.  The 
Vicodin made him sluggish, but it held back the pain as he 
limped toward her weapon.  He got about four steps before 
Jimmy shoved him backwards, sending him sprawling naked onto 
the rough carpet.  "Did I say you could move?" he hollered, 
towering over Mulder.  He kicked him hard in the injured 
knee, and the searing pain nearly made Mulder throw-up.

But the plan had worked enough to make him stop hurting 
Scully, and she was busy creeping off the bed behind Jimmy's 
back.  Mulder dragged himself backward, as if making for the 
door, and Jimmy followed.  

"I'm in charge now," he said, breathing hard.  He kicked 
Mulder again for emphasis.  "You'll do as I say."

He tucked the gun in his pants and pulled out a knife, using 
one hand to haul Mulder up.

"Freeze right there!"  Behind them, Scully had retrieved her 
gun.  In the dim light through the curtains, Mulder could see 
her holding it.  There was blood leaking down one side of her 
face.

Jimmy had an arm around Mulder's throat now, choking him.  
Mulder could also feel the knifepoint against his belly.  
Jimmy's voice was a hard rasp right in his ear: "Go ahead and 
shoot if you think you can hit me and not your lover."

It was dark where they stood, but Scully could probably get 
the shot off.  Mulder licked his lips.  Jimmy was strong and 
he could barely stand up; there was no way he could get out 
from his grip without help.

"Let him go," Scully ordered.

"Make me."  The knife sliced into him and Mulder let out a 
painful hiss.  "Put the gun down or I keep cutting."

Scully fired far to the right of them, a blast that shook the 
wall.  "Let him go."

But Jimmy did not cooperate. He wasn't willing to yield 
control quite yet.  The knife bit deeper into Mulder's belly, 
and he could feel the blood begin to slide down into his 
pubic hair.  He bit back a painful sob, but that was all it 
took.

"Okay!"  Scully put up her hands.  "Just stop it!"

"Throw the gun away," Jimmy replied, still holding the knife 
at Mulder's intestines.  "Now!"

Scully tossed the gun into the corner, where it landed with a 
heavy thud.  Mulder closed his eyes, feeling their chances 
slipping away.  Jimmy dragged him to the bed, where he shoved 
him face-first into the mattress.  Mulder tried to struggle, 
but the knife wound and the knee injury made him no match for 
Jimmy's strength.  He pinned him with his knees and had his 
hands bound behind his back in no time at all.

Practice makes perfect, Mulder thought in dark irony.

Someone pounded on the outside of their door.  "Agent 
Mulder?" a man called from the other side.  "Agent Mulder, 
are you in there?  Your neighbors reported a gunshot."

The knife blade settled at Mulder's throat.  "Don't say a 
word, either of you."

"Agent Mulder, we're coming in."  He heard the door snick 
open but they ran into the deadbolt.  "Someone's inside," the 
voice said.  "Agent Mulder?  Agent Mulder, please answer us 
or we're going to call the police."

Thank god, Mulder thought, closing his eyes against the 
mattress.

But Jimmy leaned over him and spoke directly in his ear:  "By 
the time they get here, this will all be over."

Their would-be rescuers disappeared, and Jimmy used the rest 
of the telephone wire to bind Mulder's feet to his hands, 
effectively hog-tying him on the bed.

"Not so fast," Jimmy snarled over his head.  Mulder strained 
to see, and realized that Scully was inching toward the 
corner where her gun lay.  "Now that Mulder is bundled up 
nice and snug, it's time for you and me to have some fun."

Bile rose in the back of Mulder's throat.  He thrashed 
around, but this just made his bonds tighter. "Don't listen 
to him, Scully," he said.

"Fight all you want," Jimmy told her as he advanced across 
the room.  "I like it when they fight."

"Stay away from me."  Scully had backed herself up against 
the window, her arms raised to resist him, but Jimmy still 
had his switchblade. 

He slashed once and caught her across both hands.  Scully 
cried out in horror and pain, and Mulder screwed his eyes 
shut against the terrible sound.

The mattress bounced as Jimmy threw Scully back down next to 
Mulder.  "It's better over here," he said, panting with the 
effort.  "This way Mulder can watch."

///////

Dawn cracked the sky like an egg, gray light pouring out onto 
the earth below.  Manny took his reheated mug of stale coffee 
into the break room, looking for a little peace.  Instead he 
found Agent Fowley there with her own cup of coffee.  She 
looked as haggard as he felt.

"Hey," he said pulling up a chair, figuring it would be rude 
to turn around and walk out again.  "How's it going?"

She took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly.  "The Winthrop 
boy is in with his lawyer now, and it's unlikely we're going 
to get to talk to him again before the arraignment."

"We don't have him for the murders."

"No, just the thefts at this point.  We can add the murder 
charges later if warranted."

Manny gave her a sideways look.  "So you don't think he did 
it either."

"He's a confused seventeen year-old kid.  I just don't think 
he has it in him to commit crimes of this magnitude.  Ripping 
off a few hats is a long way from double homicide."

Manny rubbed one hand over his grizzled face and considered 
their other suspect: his Chief, the man who had given him his 
gold shield.  It did not seem possible that this same man had 
cut up nine people and raped a half-dozen women.

Agent Fowley seemed to read his mind.  "Ray Peterkin is 
asking for Chief Windsor to be removed from the case."

"I think that's best, however things shake out from here."

They said nothing then, the silence acknowledgement enough 
that Windsor's career was over no matter how the case 
proceeded.  Manny hoped like hell that the Chief wasn't a 
killer, that his hands had some dirt on them but no blood.  
Every man and woman in blue would wear the stain.

The door swung open and Jane came in with a sheaf of papers 
in her hand.  Her thick braid had come loose through the long 
night, hairs sticking out around her face in a frizzy blonde 
halo.  She sank down in the chair nearest Manny and put the 
papers in front of her.  "Benson just gave me these," she 
said.  "I guess Agent Peterkin was asking for them but I 
can't find him around anywhere."

"He's back at the local bureau," Fowley answered.  "What have 
you got?"

Manny slid the papers in front of him and gave them a look.  
"It's a bunch of names."

"The painting companies sent them over and Benson put the 
list together.  These are all their employees, past or 
present, for the past five years.  I guess Peterkin was still 
following up on the house painting lead."

Manny flipped through the pages one by one, scanning all the 
names.  "Wait a second," he said.  "James Trumbull.  Is that 
Jimmy Trumbull, the newspaper guy?"

Jane leaned over to look with him.  "I don't know.  Seems odd 
for a news reporter to be painting houses."

"He was a free-lance reporter," Diana said.  "Maybe he needed 
extra money."

"Owen Brothers Painting," Manny said as he checked the name 
of the company.  "That was the place the Byrdeks used, wasn't 
it?"

"I'll get the file," Jane said.  Her chair skidded back on 
the linoleum floor as she hurried to retrieve it.

Manny kept reading.  "Here he is again.  Trumbull worked for 
Pro Paint in 1997.  Didn't one of the other victims use 
them?"

Jane reappeared at the door, but without the file.  "We've 
got trouble," she said.  "Nine-one-one just got a call from 
the Marriott hotel -- there was gunfire in Mulder's room."

/////////

Scully could taste the blood where it had run down her face 
to the edge of her mouth.  Adrenaline made her whole body 
tense and weak at the same time, and there was nothing she 
could do to help herself or Mulder.

Her leg protested in pain as Jimmy's knee pinned her thigh to 
the bed.  The cops were coming; they had to be.  She just had 
to keep him distracted long enough for help to arrive.  
Jimmy, however, seemed intent on getting down to business.

He ran the knife down the center of her body, pausing to nick 
the edge of one breast.  His eyes were glassy and she could 
see the bulge in his pants.  "Didn't expect to find you 
here," he said again.  "Nice little bonus."

The knife pressed into her belly and Scully huffed a breath 
in fear.  Immediately, he smiled at her and she realized this 
was what he wanted: to make her afraid.  She swallowed and 
steeled herself.

"The police are going to be here any minute," she said.  
"There are men in the hall.  You'll never get away."

Jimmy petted her with the knife.  "That's the difference 
between you and me -- I don't care if I die.  I'll live 
forever in infamy."

"What about...what about your family?"

He faltered, his face slipping into uncertainty before he 
corrected it again.  "You don't talk about them."

Mulder's head nodded on the bed.  She couldn't see his face, 
but the message was clear: keep going.

"Your kids," Scully said, her chest rising and falling under 
the glint of a knife.  "You think they won't care?"

"I said shut up!"  He held the knife tight against her neck.  
She felt the blade on her carotid artery and thought of the 
others who had died this way.

Mulder made a snuffling noise.  "Scully, careful."

"Yeah, careful, Scully."  Jimmy ran the knife from one side 
of her neck to the other.  "You don't want to bleed all over 
these nice expensive sheets."

He took out a length of rope from his back pocket.  She had 
seen enough of his handiwork to gage his intent; he meant to 
tie her hands to the headboard and rape her.  But the others 
all had bed posts that made such a feat possible.  The 
headboard in the hotel was smooth.

She saw the moment Jimmy deduced the problem.  The knife 
slackened and he hesitated with the rope in the other hand.  
He shifted just enough to allow her to free one of her legs.  

She kneed him sharply in the groin and shoved him backward 
with all her might.  He hollered in agony and crashed into 
the armchair.  Shaking, Scully scrambled from the bed and ran 
for the door.

Her had touched the deadbolt just as Jimmy grabbed her hair 
from behind.  Tears stung her eyes but she kept trying to 
open the bolt.  "Help!" she cried.  "Someone please help us!"

The knife slit into her neck and she jerked her head to the 
side, nearly wrenching free.

"God damn little bitch," Jimmy said, kicking at her as he 
struggled to keep hold of her.

"This is the police," said a voice on the other side of the 
door.  "We're coming in."

Jimmy cursed and let go of Scully.  She had bloodied his lip 
in the fight, and he stared down at her with wild eyes.  He 
would kill her now or not -- there was little she could do 
about it.  

She started to crawl away from him as he pulled the gun out 
from the back of his pants.  The rug burned her knees and her 
arms trembled.  She closed her eyes and heard Mulder's 
anguished cry as the door busted open.  "Scully!"

The gunshot shattered her.

Time slowed and she was back in Fellig's apartment, hearing 
the men's voices, feeling the force of the shot.  She sagged 
to the ground, her face to the floor.  The force of the 
arriving officers' boots shook the ground.

"Agent Scully?  Agent Scully, are you all right?"

She touched her stomach and her fingers came away bloody.  
"Oh, God," she said again.

"Scully?"  From the bed, Mulder called to her.

"I'm shot," she said, feeling light-headed.  She laid her 
head back down as someone knelt over her.  "He shot me."

She couldn't do it all again.  The hospital, the weeks of 
terrible pain, the struggle to walk again.

Gentle fingers probed at her belly.  "You're not shot."

"Scully, what's going on?"  Mulder sounded far away.

She forced herself to open her eyes and saw Manny Ahuja at 
her side.  He took her hands and helped her up.  "You're 
cut," he said, "but not too badly.  You'll be okay.  Can we 
get a medic in here?"

Not shot.  Okay.

She touched herself again and realized it was true.  But then 
where did the shot go?  

She looked past Manny and saw Jimmy lying on the floor with a 
bullet wound to his knee.  He was panting in pain, his hands 
cuffed behind his back.  

Manny took a blanket from the bed and wrapped it around her 
shoulders.  "Are you all right?"

She staggered forward then, towards Mulder, where another 
officer was working to free him.  "Mulder," she said, bracing 
herself with one arm on the bed as she held the blanket 
closed with the other.  "Are you okay?"

"I'm all right."  He flexed his arms as he was freed at last.  
"I'm okay," he said again, sounding more sure now.
 
She fell into him and grabbed him with both arms, wrapping 
the blanket around them both.  "Thank God," she whispered 
against his chest.  He held her tight and she felt his lips 
at the top of her head.  She did not open her eyes.

"How did you know?" Mulder asked someone behind her.

To her shock, it was Diana Fowley who answered.  "He painted 
the victims' houses.  When we got the call that there were 
gunshots in your room, we had a pretty good idea who we would 
find on the other side."

There was a pause.

"Didn't expect to find both of you here, though."

Mulder hugged Scully closer but did not reply.  The EMTs 
showed up with bandages and more blankets.  "Agent Scully?  
We can tend to those cuts now."

Reluctantly, Scully raised her head from Mulder's chest.  She 
saw the blood from her cheek had mingled with the cuts on his 
chest.  "You all right?" he asked her again, lifting her chin 
so he could see into her eyes.

She nodded and pulled away as one of the medics wrapped a 
blanket around Mulder from behind.  Mulder was watching the 
cops take Jimmy out the door.

"He was right," Mulder said.  "We're all going to make 
history together."

Scully shivered as she looked around the wrecked room.  The 
chairs were overturned and blood smeared across the white 
sheets.  Rope and phone wires lay scattered on the floor.  
Scully pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders as she 
said, "Somehow I don't think this was the ending he had in 
mind."

"No," Mulder said.  "He'll get his headline, but he's done 
writing the story."

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End chapter fifteen.  Continued in chapter sixteen.